Drake—the so-called Six God, and today’s bottom-starting king of the rap game—has spent the better part of the last two years proving himself to be placeless. There he was, on What A Time To Be Alive , a mixtape so infused with Atlanta rapper Future’s trademark codeine-cyborg purring and a particularly booming production style that Drake sounded more like a boisterous understudy; there he was on songs by West Coast rappers like Y.G. and The Game, sounding at home on the marauding basslines and taut snares that help define a certain kind of Los Angeles sound; there he is on a remix of “Ojuelegba,” a song by Nigerian rapper Wizkid, and there he is shrieking in gleeful patois on “Shutdown,” from grime icon Skepta, whose U.K. label Boy Better Know recently signed October’s Very Own. Heck, Drake even put out a straight-up bachata song, crooning in crisp Spanish alongside Romeo Santos, the king of the sweet Lat...
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